Shape of You
by Dawnstorm101
Summary: Valkyrie is just going about her business when a certain trickster drags her into a conversation. Rather than irritating her, that conversation develops into something more. (Based on the music video for Shape of You by Ed Sheeran. Unofficial prelude to New Beginnings.)


A/N: This was written based on a suggestion by Valki. You were right - the boy and girl in Shape of You's video could totally be Loki and Val. This isn't exactly like the video, since I wrote this as a sort of prequel to New Beginnings and therefore had to take that (and _some_ canon) into account, but I hope you like it!

And I will _always_ welcome suggestions. Even if I don't write it for whatever reason (I may have just moved on to a different fandom, or I feel like I'm not the right person to write it, or something else - me not using it doesn't mean your idea sucked), just knowing you liked my writing enough to trust me with your idea is one of my favorite feelings. Don't feel awkward about it. That goes for _all_ of my readers.

(Also I know nothing about boxing, so if you do and some detail(s) in this mortally offend you, I'm sorry.)

* * *

Valkyrie walked into the Grandmaster's private gym, reserved only for his favorites, ready to punch a punching bag. It had the same red and white designs as the rest of his place, with a boxing ring in the center, weights on one side, treadmills on another, bathrooms and showers on the third, and punching bags on the fourth. A line of windows above the weight racks granted a view of Sakaar. It was ridiculously late, as per usual for her, so she should've been alone, but she wasn't. There was a man with long black hair jogging along on one of the treadmills.

She decided to ignore him. After wrapping her hands, she set to pummeling a punching bag. The person she had tried to capture today had gotten away, thanks to those stupid barbarians. Today, she had been too slow, too merciful. Tomorrow would be a different story.

"Well, what did that punching bag ever do to you?"

 _Ugh._ It was him, deciding striking up a conversation was a good idea. He'd left his treadmill, and was now leaning back on the ring's ropes, clumsily wrapping his hands.

Valkyrie didn't even bother to shoot him a glare. "None of your damn business."

He held his hands up a little. "Just trying to make conversation."

"Don't."

He sighed. "You're just the most interesting person I've come across here."

She snorted. "You mean you think I'm hot and you want to get into my pants."

"You are hot," he agreed, moving to the punching bag beside her. "And I wouldn't say no. However, I really do just want to talk to someone who has lines beyond 'Roar, I am big and fierce, I want to murder you.'"

"Who says I don't want to murder you?" she asked, adding an extra _oomph_ to the punch she landed as she said "don't."

He noticed, and shifted so his punching bag hung between them – smart man. "Most people do," he admitted. "It's not an unexpected thing at this point in my life."

Valkyrie didn't pause her punches, but she did look more closely at him. He was trying to look confident and at ease, but his eyes gaze him away, their depths dark and lonely. After the world-shattering catastrophe of the battle against Hela, Valkyrie did everything she could to avoid attachments, but that look struck a chord within her. What really prompted her to speak, though, was his atrocious wrapping job.

"If you're going to punch that thing," she said, "fix your wrappings. Your hands are gonna get all busted up like that."

"Oh," he said, looking down at his hands. "I don't do this often."

Valkyrie pursed her lips. "Obviously. No wonder you're not in the arena."

He looked up sharply. "I can fight," he snapped. "I just prefer magic."

"No need to get snippy," she rebuked, finally abandoning her bag to take care of his hands, sick of watching him fidget with the wrappings. "You're lucky."

It was his turn to snort. "I was a king a few days ago. Now I'm some…"

"Lackey?" she suggested.

"No."

"You're a lackey."

"I am _not_."

"You are, Lackey."

"Not. And my name is Loki."

"Close enough, Lackey. There," she added, finishing up. "Now you can punch that."

"Thanks," he grumbled, turning back to his punching bag. "And I'm not. I'm getting out of here, and soon."

Valkyrie barked out a laugh. "Yeah, right. No one gets off Sakaar."

"I'm not no one," he said confidently, beginning his assault. He hadn't lied – he knew how to fight. The hits were powerful, controlled; clearly, he'd done more than weightlifting to get those well-defined arm muscles being shown off by his sleeveless shirt.

"What were you king of?" she asked, expecting some inconsequential planet as an answer.

He eyed her for a moment, then gave a tiny shrug. "Asgard."

Her next punch missed the bag completely. _He's Hela's brother._

Loki blinked at her. "Is there a problem?"

Valkyrie turned to him, suddenly realizing how similar he was. The pale skin, the black hair… He seemed nice enough, albeit arrogant, certainly not murderous. And yet, at this point, beating him was likely the closest she'd ever get to revenge for her fallen sisters.

"Let's spar," she suggested, turning to the boxing ring. She donned a pair of gloves and slipped between the ropes.

Loki didn't move. "Must we?"

"I thought you said you could fight? Were you lying?" she challenged.

Instantly, he moved to the ring, grabbing his own gloves. "Are we wagering or anything?"

"Nope," she replied, getting into fighting stance. "Just me kicking your scrawny butt."

He laughed. "Good luck wit-"

Valkyrie leapt at him. His eyes widened and he spun out of the way, lashing out as he turned. She dodged with ease and went for his gut. Her punch landed and his breath escaped in a _whoosh_ of air. She swept his legs from under him and pinned him down with a knee on the chest.

"You were saying?"

He looked at her, his expression fighting between irritation, embarrassment, and other typical male emotions when a woman beat them. "I wasn't ready," he rasped.

She stood. "Whatever you say."

He stumbled upright, raising his fists. "Let's go again."

She agreed. After that, they sparred for an hour. She avoided his face, knowing how the Grandmaster hated his lackeys to look ugly or damaged, but hardly held back anywhere else. Every time, Loki went down.

Finally, when she had him pinned with a hand on his throat, he held his hands up. "I'm done."

"About time," she said, standing. "I admire the tenacity, though."

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan, slowly staggering upright, one arm pressed against his stomach. "Thanks, I suppose."

Valkyrie ducked out of the ring, chucking the gloves off and heading for the door. Between the sparring – which, although clearly rusty, he actually was pretty decent at it – and actually socializing for once, she was ready for bed. "Good night, Loki."

"What, I don't even get a name after all of that?" he protested.

She waved over her shoulder and disappeared into the hallway.

-MCU-

Their sparring became a nightly thing. She would go about her day, eventually find her way to the gym long after sunset, and Loki would be there. He did most of the talking, but he seemed genuine, not the flat-out, rehearsed, very bad flirting she got from guys who just wanted no-strings-attached sex. What he lacked in fighting ability, he made up for with a silver tongue – Valkyrie caught herself on the verge of getting too personal more than once a night. But she didn't do attachments, especially not to Hela's brother, so she held her tongue.

Tonight, though, he didn't wait for her to show up in the gym. She was at a colorful bar, _The Grandmaster's Delights_ , downing bottle after bottle. It was dim, lit by flashing streaks of neon light, and crowded with dancers who were higher than a pegasus could fly; music pounded against her eardrums. The handful of people at the shiny black counter were the depressed ones, looking to drown their sorrows rather than dance and hallucinate the night away. Valkyrie had tried that second tactic a few times, but she had quickly become a regular at the counter.

"Nice place," a familiar voice remarked, its owner sliding into the stool beside hers.

Valkyrie kicked back the last of her vodka as he ordered a whiskey. "Not really."

The bartender, a dark red man with four arms, rolled his eyes, but didn't dare do more, having seen her in bar brawls often enough to know what she was capable of. If Loki noticed, he didn't react, just sipped at his drink. He grimaced. "You're right."

"I usually am," she said, accepting the new drink the bartender slid to her.

Loki chuckled, idly tracing the rim of his glass with one finger. "You sound like me."

She arched an eyebrow. "Should I feel proud or offended?"

He shrugged a little, a weary smile twisting across his face. "I don't even know anymore."

Valkyrie reached out, almost tempted to take his hand, but she just stole his drink. He didn't try to stop her, and she took his moment of silence to think. _He looks like Hela, but he doesn't act like her. Hell, he wasn't even born when I left, and if he was ruling Asgard before he got here, clearly she was locked up. How much influence could she really have had over him?_

"I've been there," she admitted after finishing it for him. She set his glass back down in front of him, laying her forearm over his own, and didn't move it.

Loki blinked at the contact, just staring at their touching limbs. "Really?" he said after a moment. "You seem confident."

"So do you," she countered. "I think you, of all people, know appearances can be deceiving."

"True," he conceded, shifting his stool a little closer to hers. "What do you have to be unsure of, though?"

Valkyrie leaned closer, making eye contact. "None of your business."

"Mmm," he murmured noncommittally, slowly closing the gap between them. "Would it be my business if I did… this?"

He tilted his head a little, steadying himself with a hand on the edge of her stool, the tips of their noses brushing as he went in for the kiss. Valkyrie tilted her head up towards him, letting her eyes drift shut. And the moment they did, Hela flashed across her imagination, cackling as she sliced through her sisters. Her sisters, all of them dead, ordered into a hopeless battle by a king who hid in his palace.

"No!" she snarled, shoving him back, palm flat against his chest. He grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from crashing to the floor, confusion filling his expression. She whipped out one of her ever-present daggers, aiming it at him. "You and your family cannot be trusted, _Odinson_. Attachments to your ilk bring only pain. Stay out of my life."

With that, she swept out of the club, ignoring his very confused "What?"

 _No attachments. It's better this way._

-MCU-

For the next few weeks, she ignored him. She avoided that gym and that club, finding her exercise and alcohol elsewhere. If they passed in the hallways, or ended up at one of the Grandmaster's many parties at the same time, she stubbornly avoided the eye contact he tried to make. Until the Grandmaster summoned them to find Thor and Hulk, she successfully avoided him. When he noticed the tattoo on her arm, she could see puzzle pieces clicking together in his mind, and she didn't give him time to think about it until he was chained up and she was gone.

Part of her hated it, seeing him chained up and vulnerable, but it was necessary. She hid her relief as Thor unchained him, guilt pricking her as he stood with his ankles spread deliberately wide, something dark haunting his gaze as he rubbed his wrists. Another part of her reminded her of his family tree, of Thor's family tree, but neither prince proved himself a murderous psychopath. Loki was dubious, yes, and she wasn't terribly surprised when Thor showed up without him, but he didn't seem evil. Thor could've led with the best of her sisters had he been a woman.

But still, she agreed to fight alongside Thor because it would give her a shot at real revenge, not just practice-punching Hela's baby brother. It wasn't until after Loki showed up that it hit her.

She was fighting hard, hacking away at zombie Asgardian warriors, wondering if she had known any of them when they were alive, when she heard it. Over clanging swords and thudding bodies, a ship rumbled towards them. She beheaded one more zombie, then whirled to face it, hoping it wasn't enemy reinforcements.

Loki emerged from the fog, arms spread, cape billowing, helmet shining in Asgard's light. "Your savior is here!"

If she hadn't been mid-battle, she would've doubled over laughing. As it was, she just turned back to the zombies, slashing at them with renewed vigor. Until she heard a familiar cry of pain.

Valkyrie spun around, cape flying dramatically, searching for the source. Loki was on the ground, helmet and daggers out of reach, clutching his ribs, and trapped between a few zombies and the edge of the bridge. Magic spurted from his free hand, blasting back one zombie, but when another kicked him, he had to abandon the attack to keep himself on the bridge. In the gap between enemies, he finally caught her eye.

 _Screw it._

Maybe attachments did result in pain. Maybe these brothers were cursed, doomed to eventually wound her. But Loki was the first in a long, long time to try to befriend her, and he didn't deserve blame for what his sister had done before he was born.

If she was going to die, she wasn't dying alone. And if by some miracle she lived, she wasn't doing that alone, either.

She flung a dagger at them, watching it sink squarely into a zombie's back. They turned to face her, and she just smirked, addressing her next words more to Loki. "Hi. My name's Valkyrie."

Loki blinked, his expression screaming, "You're doing this _now_?" He kicked out, knocking a zombie over, and used telekinesis to fling it over the edge.

The zombies said nothing. Of course not - they were zombies. They just started to fight, turning to deal with Loki. Their mistake.

With a battle cry, Valkyrie launched herself at Loki's attackers.

* * *

A/N: The "Your savior is here!" line was going to make it into a fic eventually. I need that scene on a t-shirt.


End file.
